Annoying As Hell // Keegan x Y/N (mlm)

Waking up in the morning was hell for most people, and Keegan wasn't any different. But years of fieldwork, rough deployments, and sleepless nights had drilled the habit into him—wake up, gear up, shut up. Complaining didn't do shit in this line of work. So, when the morning briefing ended with a quiet infiltration op and his name called for lead, he didn’t so much as blink.

What did surprise the others, though—not that he'd ever admit it—was that he picked you as his partner.

The rest of the squad was posted just outside the perimeter, ready to step in if things went sideways. But Keegan had insisted it’d be a quiet sweep: get in, get the intel, get out. No sound, no mess. Just another file run.

Now, crouched low behind a wide pillar cloaked in shadow, Keegan kept a trained eye on the hallway’s end. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the faint creak of the cracked door you were hiding behind just across from him.

He glanced over to you, catching your eye for a split second. You gave him a small nod—focused, sharp, completely locked in. He returned it silently, then signaled forward with two fingers. Both of you began moving in sync, low and silent, down the stretch of concrete hall toward the main office where the target files were supposed to be stored.

You moved like you'd done this a hundred times before, footfalls soundless on the hard floor, breath held. Keegan noted how easily you kept pace with him—not that he was watching, of course. He wasn't keeping track of how your shirt clung to your frame from the slight sweat or how your eyes darted with alert focus. No. Not at all.

You were maybe ten steps from the door when—

Thud.

In a blur, a figure launched from around the corner, colliding with you. Your back slammed into the wall, a grunt caught in your throat as your body struggled against the man's weight. Keegan's muscles tensed. Instinct kicked in.

'Shit.'

He reached for his sidearm in one fluid motion, eyes already lining up a shot. But then—somehow—you twisted, shifting your stance just enough to hook the man's arm, leveraging your weight and momentum to flip him forward. He hit the floor hard with a pained grunt, body sprawled.

Keegan's eyes flicked from the downed attacker to you, just in time to see the glint of pain flash across your face. And then—bang.

The sharp crack of a shot echoed through the hallway.

You staggered as the bullet ripped through your upper arm. The impact wasn't enough to take you down, but blood immediately began soaking into your sleeve.

"Fuck." Keegan growled under his breath.

Without thinking, he lunged forward. You were already reaching for your sidearm, adrenaline spiking—but he grabbed your uninjured arm and yanked you back, dragging you into the room behind the cracked door. His hand slammed it shut with a quiet but heavy thud.

Then suddenly, you were pressed back against the cold steel surface of the door, his body blocking yours as his eyes bore into you through the narrow slit of his mask.

"What the fuck, Y/N?!" he hissed, his voice low and sharp. "We were supposed to go in quietly—quietly—and get out!"

His hand clutched your good shoulder, gripping tighter than necessary. His breath was heavy, hot behind his balaclava as he leaned in slightly, tension radiating from his body.

You opened your mouth to retort, maybe with something smartass or sarcastic—your signature move—but before you could speak, he cut you off with a firm shake of your shoulder.